


The Mentalist: The Beginning

by Gimmeran21



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Gen, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Psychiatric Hospitals, Psychology, Revenge, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 17:23:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19446121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gimmeran21/pseuds/Gimmeran21
Summary: Patrick Jane’s family is murdered and how he deals with the terrible event.





	The Mentalist: The Beginning

As Patrick drove home he unconsciously speeded up. For some reason he really really wanted to get home to see his two girls. Tonight had been a triumph: he’d successfully done three cold readings and got a sceptical audience on his side. The more people who believed his con the better, more money in the bank for Paddy.

He thought he’d also managed to up his profile with SacPD with his comments on Red John which he’d drawn out of thin air just to make an impression. SacPD had started to make noises about the cost of retaining his services and he wanted to keep his hands on the retainer.

Angie wanted him to stop: she thought that what he did was dishonest and would like them to live as she put it “poorer but better”. She was worried about the example it would be setting for Charlotte especially as she was getting older and starting to ask questions about what he did for a living but he loved living in this house which he’d designed himself. It was a tangible sign of his success, a spacious and elegant house with wonderful views of the ocean. But it was also a home which he shared with the most important people in his life.

After a lifetime of transience, rarely staying in one place for more than a month at a time, he luxuriated in the sense of permanence that this house gave him. Which is why he was resisting Angie’s attempts to get him to change their lifestyle and move.

He finally drew up to the front door, quickly let himself in, checked the mail as usual and ran up the stairs to the master bedroom wondering whether Charlotte would have got in with Angie and he’d have to carry her back to her own bedroom as he had had to do for the last few weeks. He looked at the notice:-

Dear mister Jane,  
I do not like to be slandered in the  
media, especially by a money-  
grubbing fraud.  
If you were a real psychic, instead of a  
dishonest little worm, you wouldn’t  
need to open the door to see what I’ve  
done to your lovely wife and child.

and then he opened the door…

The smiley face on the wall dripped red and the blood was everywhere. He ran to help his wife and daughter but they were both so cold…

The police and ambulance arrived noisily to find an almost catatonic man covered in blood saying over and over ”they’re so cold, so cold”. Of course they took him in for questioning. It looked like an open and shut case, although the smiley face had given them pause for a moment. He was obviously guilty. When he’d phoned the police he had said very calmly, “I’ve killed them, I’ve killed them” although why he would have killed his wife and daughter wasn’t clear.

The investigating detective had been convinced he was trying to set up a defence based on insanity so they had kept Patrick at the station until late in the evening until they had finished checking out his alibi. It had taken a while mainly because the man had suddenly become incoherent and they’d had to get the doctor in to calm him down but by the time the doctor had arrived the man was silent.

Sam and Pete had come as soon as they could to collect Patrick from his neighbours. He had managed to hold it together enough to make the funeral arrangements and to attend the committal. He wouldn’t have a service as he didn’t believe in an afterlife and as far as he was concerned he would never see Angie or Charlotte again.

Patrick downright refused to move out of the house once the police had finished there. He also didn’t want Sam and Peter there, insisting he was alright really. They wouldn’t countenance leaving so they put up with the creepy feeling that the house gave them, sleeping in one of the guest rooms while Patrick would only sleep in the master bedroom under the red smiley face. Although sleep wasn’t what he did: he thrashed around on the bed crying and shouting out in his half-awake state. Those were the only times that he allowed Sam to hold and try to comfort him but in the morning he didn’t remember and Sam wasn’t about to remind him.

During the day he barely ate and on the rare occasions that he spoke he begged them to go – he could manage. Sam and Pete weren’t going anywhere anytime soon especially as Patrick was getting thinner and weaker by the day.

After a fortnight of this Sam said, “Come on Paddy, this can’t go on, we’re getting the doctor in.”

Patrick twisted away from her saying “Why? I’m alright. I don’t need anything.”

The doctor was old school and didn’t believe in pandering to self-pity. After all he had lost his wife to cancer and had coped with the situation without whining. He thought the man wallowing in self-pity. Yes it was a terrible thing that had happened to him but that was the way things were. The man just needed a bit more time and then he’d adjust. So he was prescribed some mild sleeping tablets to take the edge off despite Sam’s protests that Patrick needed more than that.

Sam took the tablets ready to dole them out on a nightly basis. She didn’t trust Patrick with the whole prescription. He was on the edge and it wouldn’t take much to push him over.

Although he had been losing a lot of time during the day he forced himself to come back enough to do this one thing. Patrick looked at the computer screen. He’d found what he wanted, put it in the online basket and checked the order and paid and then sent the order off. The items should come next day. Because he still wasn’t sleeping despite the tablets he was always up long before Sam and Pete and would get to the mailbox before them.

The next day he collected the package from the mailbox and made his plans accordingly.

Sam and Pete woke to full sun coming into their room and realised they’d slept in without any of the nightly disturbances that had become normal. Perhaps the sleeping tablets were working after all. Sam looked in on Patrick on her way to make breakfast but something about the way he was lying so absolutely still made her go up to him and she saw that he was barely breathing. Then she saw the note “Can’t it take any more. Sorry. Patrick.”

“Pete” she yelled,” Call 911. I can’t wake Patrick up”. She tried to rouse Patrick by slapping his face and moving him but his body did not respond. Then she checked his pulse which was virtually non-existent and as she tried CPR the thought crossed her mind why not just let him go? This death was what he wanted and he was in so much pain. She pushed that thought aside. He was too precious, hell almost any life was too precious just to let it go like that.

Then she heard the sirens. The medics were arriving. “Ma’am do you know what he took? Could it be these? We found them near the mattress.”

“They certainly weren’t the sleeping pills prescribed by the doctor so I think they must be.”

The ER team worked on Patrick for five hours during which he flatlined twice but they persevered and finally had their reward in a stronger pulse and some signs that he was beginning to come out of his semi-comatose state.

“Whe-re am I?”

“Buddy, you’re in the ER of Mercy Hospital.”

“Don’t want…”

“Yes I know but things will become more bearable one day.”

Patrick knew that was a black lie, the only way they’d become more bearable was for another attempt to be successful.

As Patrick was too weak to hold a conversation and he kept floating away to another place the attending physician asked Pete “What’s the story with this guy? That was some serious dope he used. Another half an hour and he would have been gone.”

“His wife and child were murdered about a month ago and he blames himself.”

“Oh yeah – Red John wasn’t it?”

“That’s right.”

“Well he needs some more attention for his mental state so once he’s more physically able I’m transferring him to the psych hospital down the road.”

Patrick lay there hardly moving. He’d failed and now he was going to have to go through another ordeal down the road. As he was on suicide watch he couldn’t get anything to finish the job so he’d have to wait until he got to the other hospital. At the moment he was just too darned weak to do anything so he’d just bide his time. He wasn’t sure if he could forgive Sam and Pete for bringing him back but he supposed it meant that at least someone cared, not that that mattered any more. Nothing mattered any more.

The day came for his transfer to Mercy 2 – the psych hospital. They must have given him some heavy-duty stuff for the move because the next thing he knew was waking up in a white room on a white bed. A soft voice said, “Hello, I’m Dr Sophie Miller, I’m here to help you.”

Once he was left alone he made for the door. Twisted the knob and then realised that he was locked in. How had it come to this?

So his routine at the hospital began. He’d wake up from a drug-induced sleep and then would have a therapy session with Dr Miller. As far as he was concerned this was only a chance to use the famous Jane charm to try to get out of the place as quickly as possible. He’d already tried to use that charm and his skill in manipulation on the attendants to get some drugs but they were too used to dealing with psychopaths, charming or otherwise for that to work. On the other hand perhaps he was losing his touch. He had thought about palming the tablets but they opened his mouth and forced him to swallow so nice try but no cigar and the sleeping drug they used at night was injected.

One day he saw that his attendant had left a pen in his pocket. Patrick seized his chance and pick pocketed it. Once the attendant had left Patrick started stabbing at his arms until the blood flowed freely but it should have spurted. He had tried to get an artery but somehow the drug had messed with his abilities and he’d missed and had only reached veins.

He tried another tack. Although he had never been to high school he’d given himself an education of sorts, especially in psychology. After all his job was mainly applied psychology. He knew about transference where a patient became emotionally involved with their doctor. Perhaps he could make it work the other way around. In this case he wanted his doctor to become emotionally involved with him so that he would get an early release.

Sophie was wise to Patrick’s little game. She’d analysed him as a charming and manipulative man who mainly lived life on his terms apart from anything to do with his wife and daughter. He was consumed with grief and guilt as well as rage and this had affected his ability to read people. He just couldn’t see that she could read people as he used to and that people were her business just as they were his.

Her duty was not just to this tortured man but to society. Although he had tried to harm only himself and no one else she knew that the rage he was feeling could turn against others if he was pushed hard enough, hence the locked room. After all she knew that depression is rage turned inwards but it could just as easily turn outwards. She was working to get him on an even enough keel to be released back into society safely and that was going to take time. She was realistic enough to know that she couldn’t take away the pain but she could try to help him bear it.

Patrick wasn’t going to give in any time soon. He was still determined to use his therapy sessions to further his own agenda. Sophie’s offer to help him rang hollow in his ears. No one could help him. They couldn’t bring back his wife and child or change the fact that it was his arrogance that had caused their deaths. The only thing that he wanted through the sessions was to use them to convince his doctor that he was well enough to be released and the sooner the better. Part of his plan was to be a model patient and if that meant being drugged up for a while so be it. The drugs also took the edge off some of his pain so although they weren’t the permanent solution he was after they would do for the time being.

To his surprise Dr Miller had started his sessions with her by dancing round the whole issue and making small talk about what he was reading and how he had improved his chess game. Half the time he felt spaced out with the drugs so that he was finding it difficult enough to hold a conversation for any length of time let alone remember in detail what they discussed. Later on she had asked him to talk about some of his happiest memories. Despite himself his arms went across his body in that most obvious of defensive gestures. That question gave him pause. It had seemed to him that that last terrible night had wiped out all happy memories but now some were coming back.

When he had first met Angie

When he realised he was falling in love with her

Their wedding day

When Charlotte was born

Suddenly he couldn’t bear it. The pain was too much. He collapsed with his legs buckling under him. He hardly felt the needle as it went in and delivered blessed unconsciousness.

Sophie was feeling quite pleased. In order to build him up and help give him back the ability to function in the outside world she was having to break down his defences. Patrick was an arrogant man who was convinced that he could manipulate her as he had manipulated so many other people. He was used to being the smartest person in the room but in his weakened and grief-stricken state he had not taken into account that there were others who were just as smart as him.

At the moment he was fooling himself and trying to fool her that he was well enough to be released very soon. The incident the other day had shown how much work they needed to do together before he could be released. She was trying to save his life so that he would not end it as soon as he went back out into the world.

“Patrick” she said on a rising note. Had she asked him something? It was difficult to concentrate. He was losing time. He thought he had said something to her but apparently not. He tried to think but he kept floating away. He’d been in his own room but now he was in her office. He didn’t remember getting there. What time was it?

Patrick was dissociating more and more and Sophie was trying to help him ground himself enough to face what had happened to his family. His mind was trying to protect itself by taking him away from the memories but ultimately he was going to have to face them for the sake of his sanity.

Because he kept floating away he couldn’t concentrate enough to eat properly and so was getting thinner and thinner. If this went on much longer she would have to put him on a drip.

“Come on Patrick, remember you are supposed to be eating.” He looked up, confusion in his eyes. He’d eaten breakfast hadn’t he? “No, Patrick that was yesterday morning. You haven’t eaten anything since then and it’s evening now.”

Why couldn’t he remember? He knew there was something important he had to remember. Perhaps if he asked Sophie she’d tell him.

Sophie knew that she couldn’t force the issue. If she did by reminding him direct of what had happened to his family it could cause him even more trauma. She had to help him remember and give him the coping mechanisms to support him through reliving his experience.

Despite the strong drugs that she had prescribed in the short term to give him some rest at night he was regularly waking up in the grip of terrible nightmares that meant he had little sleep and which left him distressed and gasping for breath. She daren’t increase the dosage as that could make him dependent on them which would add to his problems.

“Red suits you – it really puts a smile on my face.” The words came through from the corridor and suddenly Patrick was running from the room colliding with everyone in his path and then he collapsed “can’t breathe, c-can’t breathe.”

Sophie quickly came to his side. “Patrick breathe for me, steady, five in, hold and then five out.” She put her hand on his chest and helped gentle him down from the panic attack.

Suddenly his mind cleared and he saw more clearly than he had for months. He had falsely claimed powers that would help the police identify and then catch Red John. What if he could use his actual skills of observation and deduction to catch the monster and then get his revenge on him?

So now he had a new purpose in life. Actually to co-operate with the system and genuinely get well enough to get the hell out of hospital and do what he had to do to catch Red John.

Sophie was really pleased. Patrick was now well enough to be released into a general ward. He seemed to be trying hard to get well enough to be discharged rather than just playing a game.

Finally came the day six months later that he was discharged with Sophie’s words in his ear, “Be well, Patrick.”

So now he had to get in tight with the CBI which had now taken over the investigation into all Red John cases. They would have all the files relating to previous cases and he needed access to them. When he had been retained as a psychic by SacPD they had never let him have more than some basic facts and let him “work his magic” which had been more as a publicity stunt to deflect some of the criticism away from their performance.

He needed an in. Perhaps the pity card? Surely not, these were hardened and experienced cops. Still that thought gave him a further idea. So a month after his discharge from hospital a dishevelled and unkempt man turned up at CBI HQ. He was clearly distressed and persisted in asking for Senior Special Agent Teresa Lisbon in regards to the Red John case. They rang through to her office and her first reaction was to refuse to allow reception to let him up as this was obviously some nut with another crazy theory. However when they told her his name she realised that he was the poor guy whose wife and child had been murdered by Red John a few months ago. She couldn’t just blow him out: she had to at least give him the time of day.

Once she saw him she realised the toll that these deaths taken on him. He looked as though he hadn’t washed for a week, his clothes were dirty and his hair unkempt.

“So could I have a look at the Red John files?”

“I’m sorry Mr Jane you aren’t a member of CBI and at the moment I don’t have time to discuss this further with you.”

“That’s alright I’ll wait here until you’re ready.”

“I’m sorry Mr Jane we don’t have a waiting area.”

“That’s alright, I’ll go outside and come back later.”

“Alright, I’ll see you in about three hours but I’m not sure it will do any good.”

So she asked Hannigan to take him downstairs until she could discuss the matter further with Mr Jane in a few hours. As far as she was concerned Mr Jane was never going to get access to the files but she was going to let him down gently.

Meanwhile as they were waiting at the elevator Patrick did a cold reading on Hannigan who was a fat slob with obvious anger management issues judging by the way he was jabbing at the elevator button. For that reason he had very possibly been passed over for promotion. After all Senior Special Agent Lisbon who was at least twenty years younger than him was his boss. That made her promotion relatively recent and that also explained why she was having to manage Hannigan – she was newly promoted and therefore probably more of a soft touch than some of her other colleagues. So she’d been landed with him.

Jane’s comments to Hannigan to that effect provoked exactly the reaction he wanted although it was rather painful. The punch landed on his nose and the force of it knocked him to the ground. As he rather dizzily tried to get up, Senior Special Agent Lisbon rushed to help him. So far so good. He’d got her on his side for the moment.

More to the point her boss would be worried sick about the consequences if details of the incident got out. “Murder victims’ husband/father assaulted by police” and other variations on the same theme would read really well. Minelli would see his career go down the tubes. What price his pension now?

Minelli had to mend fences fast. Although this guy had said that he had provoked the incident he’d still get the sympathy vote especially with the way he looked at the moment. OK so he was asking for access to the Red John files and perhaps they could let that happen and Senior Special Agent Lisbon could help him with that.


End file.
